


Write Your Heart Out

by MaddieMare



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall (Eventually), Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Debate Club Sucks, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Girls, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nice Monika, Nobody Likes Literature, Non-Sentient Monika, Prequel, Reference Protagonist, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, The power of friendship, mental problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieMare/pseuds/MaddieMare
Summary: A poem, story, or any type of writing, is like a river. The words flow on and on until it reaches a conclusion, an ocean, a bay.But where did the river start; where did it come from, how did it form on the earth?How did this game of misdirection and torment truly begin?What was our sentient waifu like before?...Basically, the tale of the club's creation by a passive girl who really liked writing. The goody-two-shoes, the most popular and perfect girl, Monika.(This stories gonna fail)*Hiatas ‘til I gather my thoughts for this incompleted draft*





	Write Your Heart Out

 

"Chiyo, though I appreciate your concerns regarding the restoration of the Carnation garden, using all the school’s fundings on it would be a waste of resources and time. There are epidemics that need to be solved: such as-"

"-And let such beautiful piece of nature be left forgotten in the back of the school?! I think not! This can be the project to bring the whole school together; to bring back the past and symbolize our school's passion and teamwork! To-"

"-No one cares about that rotting place anyway. If you really do love it so much why don't you go join the naturalist club or something?"

"Why you-!"

In the midst of the routinely backlash of the Debate Club members ripping each other's throats out over the stupidest of things, one member, in particular, remained seated at her desk, wishing ardently to disappear from the discordant room. But of course, she couldn't just get up and leave the club, her fellow members would then convert their attention to her and implode all the anger within them on her. Why did she believe joining this club would be a good idea? The idea of a place where you can share your opinions, ideas, and passion on a subject dear to you and hear how others view your ideas was the last push into the girl's decision of joining in the first place.

However, once a member, she was harshly slapped in the face of what truly befell in the club: pointless arguments and over drama.

So while the rest of the club went on and on at each other, and seemingly getting nowhere; the remote member scribbled away in her notebook, overflowing the white pages with her thoughts of anger, sadness, and boredom. These randomly written words and feelings plastered within the book soon molded into a story - a short poem of her suppressed spirits in this prison of negativity and ignorance. If only she could have her own little space to be free to express how she truly feels, to share her passion with others, to forget your insecurities and just be yourself, to show who the real you is without that mask-

“Monika, what do you think?”

The girl, now known as Monika, jumped in her chair at the sudden awareness fired at her; clumsily dropping her pen to the floor. Each club member now directed their attention to her, anticipating her response. She could sense her entire frame stiffening with each second trickling by; the already immense tension in the room didn't make matters any better. She had no choice, either remain rooted incompetently to her desk and make a fool of herself or actually say something for once in this joke of a debate club.

“U-uh, sorry...w-what was it you were talking about again?”

“Ugh, see Chiyo,” One of the members sneered. “even Monika thinks your argument is stupid; just proves my point.”

“Shut up Reo, you’re just oblivious to the value of nature! But come to think of it, you're probably too busy gawking at Akari’s ass each day to notice, pervert!"

Monika sank back to her chair as the wave of blasphemy hit the rest of the club members, flooding the room in bellows of the several boys that partake in the club, and catfights amongst girls pulling each other's hair and shrieking with every victory or loss, already neglecting the outlying girl's existence.

Monika glanced down at the floor to where her pen had rolled to. It had managed to find its way under a desk just inches away; she could have surely got it back if she would just walk a foot or two, less even. But she didn't. She'd prefer to wait out in her seat till most of the students left; then she'd make her move. Seems as though her pen had the same idea to stay hidden from the obnoxious wails and whines as it rolled away in silence.

Monika gazed down at her uncomplete poem. The detailed paper with it's agilely laid out words of symbolism going in so deep were abruptly yank of all meeting as the poem met a dead end. She just wanted to slam her head on the desk in frustration. Can't she ever finish a single poem?

Plucking the half-done poem, she crumpled the paper into the irregular ball and shoved it into her backpack. Another poem despoiled by partaking in this gag of a club. Her backpack was sure to be loaded with them by the end of the marking period.

Monika huffed as she lowered her head to the desk; watching each club member's outbreak die down moderately as each one by one began leaking out from the classroom. The last member was, of course, Chiyo, texting away angrily on her phone, presumably to her entourage of giddy friends preparing themselves to tear apart Reo the next morning for questioning her garden idea. Typical Chiyo.

When the girl finally struts out of the room, Monika sighed as she got up from her seat and made her way to the runaway pen.The little rose heart attached to the lid, giving the already stylish pen a girlier feel.

Monika hunched down next to the desk and reached her arm underneath, her fingers feeling the ground for the fallen pen. She soon felt the familiar then cylinder tool brush against her digits, which she in return grasped and pulled from under the desk.

Her lucky pen was covered in a few webs of dust, but she bid it no mind and brushed the particles off, earning herself the clean, presentable pen she held dear to.

She returned to her desk, pulling her backpack off the ground and onto her shoulders; she strolled across the classroom and through the front door.

Upon entering the other side, she was met with the clear, soundless hallway of the school. Students from other clubs have already left the building at this time, excusing the few staff that lingered to carry out their respective duties.  

Monika began her journey through the deserted corridors, each step taken heard all throughout the school's wing; her cadenced tapping being the only sound in the dismal school. That blatant truth added more unnecessary stress to her routinely day.

Turning the corner down the hall, she met the staircase directing to the primary level of the school. Descending the step, she let her eyes fall as she hummed a mellow melody to surpass the dead-still air.

The seeming wordless resonance that resembled uneven chords and pattern from an outsider's point of view was a masterpiece in the mind of the girl. The instrumentals, the lyrics; the song sounded perfect, but...how in the world has she even come up with a chime such as this? She wasn't that much of a music person. Though, maybe it was just a tune she heard in the past or something.

Still...it was somewhat odd-

The wind was knocked out of Monika as a force equivalent to that of a girl like herself was brought upon her torso. Monika cried out upon contact, not by pain, but by shock. Same could be said for the other girl.

“Ow-ow-ow...uh, oh my gosh; I’m _so_ sorry!”

Monika pared her eyes apart to meet a girl roughly around her own age, but she couldn’t recall ever seeing the girl in any of her classes; perhaps she was new or a grade lower.

The girl was displayed with the allotted school uniform, though shes adjusted her attire by leaving her vest unbuttoned, accompanying with a great big red bow atop her strawberry blonde hair. She was on the ground, gathering a mass of fallen papers, books, and pencils and brutally shoving them into her bag. All the while mumbling to herself in aggravation; Monika picked up some words such as "dummy" and "clumsy".

Monika parted her lips. “Umm, are you oka-”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be out of your way now!”

The girl sped down the stairs, leaving Monika with her mouth agape, considering whether to take offense to the girl's action or to continue on her way home.

Choosing the rational option, Monika brushed off the weird exchange and proceeded forwards; only to have the sound of crumbled paper upon her first step.

She hastily jumped off the paper, praying for as little damage possible done to the mystery girl's neglected belonging.

The sheet's upper right edges were somewhat twisted and curved, and a perpetual shoe imprint was embedded into the page like it's inked writing.

Monika moaned in desperation. Great, not only were her afternoon's tedium and filled with constrained outcries of dull classmates, but she went as far as to possibly ruin an outsider's day by inadvertently ruining and losing their schoolwork. Classic Monika; making matters worse for everyone!

She picked up the trampled paper and strived to smooth out the paper's twisted ends and dust off the dirt-stamped footprint imprinted upon it.

The corners were somewhat evened out, yet dents were still clearly visible. The brand of the shoe still remained intact, though it further ruined the paper's white background with smudges of coffee-colored dust spread with the visible print of fingers.

That wasn’t good.

Monika analyzed the blurred writing of the paper, hoping to find the girl's name and return it. However, no headings nor names of any sort were to be found amongst the poor handwriting.

A bucket of dread was thrown at the student as she flipped the paper for any signature whatsoever. When that search came out dry, she resorted to reading whatever the girl wrote for some sort of clue if indeed the mystery girl was in the same grade as her. If not, then she'd just put it in the lost and found or pin it to the bulletin board or something; there weren't many alternatives available, so what else could she do?

_The Gallery._

Huh, is this some writing assignment or something?

 

_Like any other day, I walk into the gallery;_

_I expect all the same._

_Once inside, I find the artworks of my fellow peers laid out on the walls, presented for all to see._

_All with unique imagery, colors, and designs;_

_and yet sharing simple concepts with friends and peers alike, make their artwork stand out further._

_Each guest stares in admiration and awe of each creation,_

_flocking back and forth for more works of art to feed their growing desires._

_"Wow, do you see her's!?"_

_"Look at his!"_

_"Oh, how beautiful!"_

_I continue down the gallery's long corridor;_

_Paintings and drawings decorate the walls lessen as I move on._

_Less guest are here;_

_they don't want to see bad art, only the best._

_Interesting._

_Eye-catching._

_Popular._

_The artists here don't have any real talent._

_Mine's here;_

_it's alone on the wall._

_I'm alone in the hall._

_No one likes my drawing._

_I don't like my drawing._

_I leave the gallery._

 

...is this suppose to be a poem? If so, then it’s pretty depressing.

If this to be the perspective of the girl, then this poem may symbolize everyone around her obtaining more attention and spotlight than her, making her hate herself more and more as she's left forgotten, alone...

This is not something to hand in as an assignment.

If someone were to, then the teacher would be sure to call the counselor and your parents. They’d blatantly accuse you of depression or any other mental issue and suspend you until you got the proper cure for your “illness”. The school was pretty serious on such matters.

So at least some things were settled; this was just some poem a girl made in her own free time and nothing else. Perhaps she was intimidated one-day with everyone around her. Maybe on that day, she didn't feel special, she felt worthless.

Well, Monika could relate to that.

It's nice to see people expressing themselves through the white pages. It'd also be nice to meet that girl again and maybe talk about literature. That would be nice.

A light bulb lit up in Monika's head within seconds; a smile slowly crept on as her mind began to charge up with the bulb's activation. With the mystery girl's poem still in hand, she used her spare one to unhook her backpack from her shoulders and let it slump to the floor. Unfastening the zipper, she rummages through her bag, her fingers dancing with the edges of her books and folders until she comes across one specific folder.

Pulling the packet out, a professional, yet simplistic rose gold folder, she lifts it's cover; within, two pockets are available to her. The right, full of randomly drafted poems, most never to be completed but still stashed away. Quite messy to say the least. On the left, a pocket full of fresh white-lined paper just waiting to be used.

Monika, glancing down at the mystery girl's poem one final time, places it in the left pocket before gingerly sealing the folder of stored literature and returning it once more into her backpack. Clasp the bag's zipper once more, she hoists it onto her shoulders and continues down the stairs, humming a sweet melody as she descends the stairs.

So there _were_ other kids in school that have a passion for literature much like herself, she knew that now. So what she'd do next wouldn't be a complete waste of time! Sure it may be hard at first, getting members and establishing the club’s activities, but overall, it should be fine. She'll just have to remember to visit the headmaster during free time tomorrow. But it'll all be worth it, she'll finally be free to follow her own passion! Other students can join the club to learn, improve, and have fun with all the various types of literature available for all to partake in! And of course, she couldn't forget, with this club, she'll be able to give the mystery girl back her poem if she so chooses to join, which Monika doesn't doubt the slightest.

Monika's smile twinkled at just the thought of it.

Goodbye, Debate Club, and hello, _Literature Club!_


End file.
